


Bernard and the Girls

by ladyswarthington



Category: Black Books, Black Books/Full House, Full House
Genre: Crossover, Gen, reluctant adoption, slightly cracked
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-22
Updated: 2012-10-22
Packaged: 2017-12-20 23:27:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/893138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyswarthington/pseuds/ladyswarthington
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bernard gets an unexpected surprise at the book shop when three newly orphaned, blonde-haired sisters show up and expect a much warmer living environment than he can provide.</p>
<p>(I wrote this in October 2012, and have just gotten around to publishing it. It's a crazy crossover, but those with mutual knowledge of both TV shows should enjoy it.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bernard and the Girls

Smoke swirled around Bernard Black’s hand as he lazily flicked the cigarette ash onto his stained, warped desk. Outside the sun was shining, though only the most resilient rays came through the clouded front window of the bookshop. It was Thursday, the sort of Thursday that most people tended to use to go on a walk or finish grocery shopping for the weekend; in short, it was not the sort of Thursday that had people out buying books. Not that it mattered much to Bernard; he had only the vaguest idea what day of the week it was, and only this because he remembered that the pub would be more crowded tonight and he would have to suffer more ambient yammering to get his nightly pints with Fran. 

“Excuse me.”

“What?!” Bernard jumped. The woman, she was standing in front of him wearing a suit. He knew about people who wore suits, Bernard did; they were somehow more intolerable than people who wore things other than suits.

“Are you Bernard Black?”

“Not today.” Bernard narrowed his eyes at her and took a drag from his cigarette. She winced, looked disparagingly at the fag in his hand, and kept talking.

“I need to speak to you, Mr. Black. Your cousin, Daniel Tanner, has died.”

“My what, then?” Bernard said with minimal interest. The buttons on the woman’s suit jacket were straining over her breasts, and he acknowledged that they were more pleasant to look at than her face.

“Your cousin, from America. I’m Ann Seabring, from the Children’s Welfare office.” She offered him her hand, and he stared at it as though it were a dead ferret. “Ahem. I’ve just been given this case from the Social Services over in the US. I don’t know much about it, but apparently you’re the closest familial link to Daniel Tanner, of San Francisco, California. And he passed away suddenly last Wednesday.”

“How’d he die?”

“A mine. He’d gone in to rescue some friends, and it collapsed around them. A terrible tragedy.” She said, grasping her hands together and staring down at them. Bernard grunted.

“Do I get any money, then?” He vaguely remembered having family in America, his mother’s brother went there in the sixties to get into fruit farming or some equally pointless story. It didn’t matter, really; his cigarette was nearly finished and he could go for a bottle of wine, the kind of expensive wine that people buy with new inheritances.

“Um, well, yes. It does appear that Mr. Tanner’s—er, Daniel’s estate is going to be transferred to you for the—“

“Excellent! Right then! Where do I sign?” Bernard began smiling, something his face was generally rather uncomfortable with. “I can get my bank book. Do you need that? To wire the money… hang on.” He sprung out of his chair and began fumbling through the papers around the desk and rifling through drawers.

“Well, that can wait. There’s actually more—“ 

“Manny!” Bernard yelled. “Where’s the thing? Manny!”

“Hello there!” Manny was over by the door, holding a bag of groceries and speaking to the three blonde girls that had also materialized at that end of the shop.

“Manny!” Bernard barked. “I’ve been calling you for ages. Where’s the thing? The book for the bank thing?”

“Did you try the top right drawer?”

“Excuse me, Mr. Black, I really have more to tell you before—“ The woman insisted as Bernard clipped eyes on the bank book’s leathery cover.

“Ahah! There you are.” He turned back to her. “Well, here’s that. What do you need me to sign?”

“Who are these girls, Bernard?” Manny asked, very annoyingly as Bernard was trying to expedite the transfer of vast amounts of American dollars into his bank account.

“That’s what I was trying to explain, Mr. Black. There’s the problem of Mr. Tanner’s children. He’s left behind three young daughters.” She gestured behind her to the girls. Where had they come from, Bernard wondered. Didn’t Manny bring them in? Were they going to take his money?

“What… what is the problem?” He stuttered, leaning towards the woman to whisper confidentially. “They don’t want some of my—some of the money Dan’s left me, do they? What do they need with money, they’re only children.”

“Mr. Black, you’re the only living relative they have. The stipulation of the contract is that they would live with you, and their father’s estate would help with those costs.”

“No.” Bernard said succinctly, backing away from the desk. “No.” He shook his head so quickly it made his head swim. “No, no, no. Ha ha, no. I’m sorry. There must be a mistake. No. Manny, tell them. No.” Bernard continued to protest and retreat until he was behind the curtain and in the kitchen. Manny came in to coax him out, and when that failed Manny ran back and forth between the rooms, transferring information and reasoning with Bernard until, and Bernard forgot exactly how this occurred, the woman with the big tits had gone and the three girls were standing in the kitchen with their luggage, looking terrified.

“This place is so messy.” The shortest one said, edging closer to her sisters.

“It’s not messy. It’s lived-in. This is a style... it’s called… Dysentery Chic. For when you want that explosive feeling of… décor.” Bernard took a last gulp from his wine glass; it was pitifully empty. “Manny!” He shook the glass in front of Manny’s face.

“There’s none left. That’s the whole bottle.” Manny muttered.

“Well then, get another bottle, Lord Nancyface!” Bernard tried for the dregs at the bottom of the glass but it was just some dried red wine that had left a ring around it. Dismayed, he set the cup on the table.

“Are you an alcoholic?” The tallest one asked brashly. Before Bernard could react, Manny stepped between them.

“Well, well, well… ahem. Now, then, let’s have introductions. Proper introductions. I’m Manny Bianco. I work here in the bookshop and live upstairs as well.” Manny offered his hand to the girls; the tallest one took it timidly.

“I’m DJ. This is Stef… Stephanie. And Michelle.” She gestured to the other two, ending with a shrug. “I guess we’re living upstairs too.”

“I want to go home. It smells funny.” The shortest one whined. Bernard’s nostrils flared at her impudence.

“We can’t go home, Michelle. We have to stay here.” The tall one tried to calm the short one by petting her head. Bernard wondered if they could sleep outside like dogs. Perhaps Manny could build a small shed, and they’d have free use of the patch of grass behind the building to stand on or sit down on, as much as they’d like. And as with any good pet, they wouldn’t be allowed indoors. And if they made too much noise, he could send them off to the animal shelter to be put down humanely.

“Girls, I know it’s hard. But we’ll be sure to make this place fun for you. We’ll… we’ll paint, and we’ll get some wallpaper and a rug or two. Some great new lamps to brighten the place up.”

“Jesus, you and your lamps.” Bernard muttered. Manny shot him a look.

“Bernard,” he whispered, holding a hand to his mouth to shield it from the girls. “You can’t swear. They’re children.”

“Fucking hell, of course I can. It’s my shop. When they have their own shop, when I die of inconvenience and I bequeath it to them, then they can set rules about who can say what.” 

“Daddy says that’s a bad word.” The short one wiggled a finger at him, and Bernard knelt down to look her in the eye.

“Well your Daddy’s covered in rocks and coal in the bottom of a mine, and this is my house. I’ll chop that finger off if it’s waved at me again.”

The short girl put her hand over her mouth, her eyes wide with terror, and Bernard stood up with the hint of a smile on his face.

“Now, Manny, they’ll stay in your room.” Bernard proclaimed, plopping down in the armchair.

“Bernard, they can’t—“

“Ah! You wanted to keep them; they’re your responsibility. I’ll have none of it. I told you I can’t clean up their droppings and teach them proper toilet behavior. I’m far too busy.” He grabbed the dog-eared paperback from the side table and opened it, hoping that the four great annoyances in his life would sort themselves out by the time he turned the page.

“They’re your family, Bernard. These girls, they’ve nothing left. We’ll have to get them a room of their own, at least. Maybe buy a bigger flat, or move out to the country for better schools…”

“No country! No country! We are all staying in this flat. We can turn the back yard into a nursery.” He said, turning to the children. “It’s great fun, you’ll love it. Like camping.”

“We’re not sleeping outside.” The middling one piped up; she scowled at him.

“You’ll sleep where I tell you. And you’ll like it.” Bernard quipped.

“Mr. Black, we don’t want to live here any more than you want us to live here. But we’ve all just got to get along.” The tallest one said, a grating whine of self-righteousness in her voice.

“She’s right, Bernard. Come on. Let’s make the best of this.”

“Why don’t you let them all live in your beard, you giant wanker?”

“I WANT TO GO HOME!” The smallest one screamed; she burst into tears just as Bernard hoped she would burst into flames. “I miss Daddy and Joey and Uncle Jesse! I hate that cave that fell on them!”

Bernard watched as the two larger girls crowded around the tiny one and soothed her while they were on the verge of tears themselves. For a moment, he didn’t want them to die.

“Put them in my room. I’ll sleep in the shop. That way I can run out at a moment’s notice if they start talking.” Bernard sighed, defeated. He was a natural at parenting, obviously, but there were so many pressures associated with being so selfless. He could already tell that he would be the sort of parent who required several gallons of wine to get through the day. Thankfully, his cousin had left enough money to support this increase to his bar tab.

“Thanks, Bernard.” Manny turned to the girls. “You can stay in my room. I’ll take his. I know how to kill the things that live in there.”

Manny helped the girls up the stairs with their luggage, leaving Bernard in blessed silence to read the middle bit of The Sun Also Rises. He didn’t hear the tiny footsteps until they were almost down the stairs entirely. The book jostled towards his face as someone poked it.

“Excuse me.” It was the shortest one. Her eyes were puffy and red from the tantrum she’d just thrown; she looked sort of like Fran after too much merlot. Mucous was dripping from her nostrils.

“I’m sorry I yelled. Forgive me?” She sniffed a bit of snot back into her nose, wiped her face with the back of her hand, and kept staring at him.

Bernard thought. This was a moment that he could make a real difference in a child’s life. This little person was so tender and repentant, fragile, and in this moment he held her heart in his hands. Even Bernard’s heart was softening; he knew what he had to do.

“No.” He said quietly. “Now fuck off. I’m busy.”

And he honestly did not think that she’d ever stop crying after that.


End file.
